


Answers and Operations

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: Not Just a Spark [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Prowl, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Slightly Dark Smokescreen, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 03:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: Maybe if he treated this like one of his missions it wouldn’t feel so much like he was betraying himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last snippet in this series for now.  
>  _:Blah:_ \- hardline speak

A new psychologist on base meant that Ratchet had the authority to order everybot to go in for a preliminary meeting under threat of being removed from the battle roster. So here Jazz sat, slouching in the chair across from the new shrink. 

The new _Praxian_ shrink.

Smokescreen seemed pleasant enough, but Jazz trusted him about as far as he could throw him. He was waiting to see if the blue and red mech started exhibiting signs of crazy like his tactical counterpart. 

One insane Praxian was enough, thank-you-very-much. Prowl had not attempted to hardline or merge with him again, thank Primus. But that was likely because Jazz avoided him at all costs except if they had to work together. He knew Prowl wanted another merge; could see it in his optics every time they interacted. Like a starving turbo-fox with its sights set on a glitch-mouse. Jazz, however, was no glitch-mouse and never let himself get cornered.

That hadn’t stopped Prowl from courting him, however.

The gifts, in fact, had gotten more elaborate. Vosnian high-grade. A Golden Age recording of his favorite artist. A new energon dagger to replace the one he’d thrown at the seeker.

Frag his life.

“So,” Smokescreen smiled. “We’ve spoken about your professional life, or at least what you can tell me about it. How about your personal life? Tell me about your relationship with Prowl.” 

Jazz tensed. “Wha’ are ya talkin’ abou’?” 

Smokescreen reset his optics. “Forgive me, but I just assumed since you and Prowl shared Spark Resonance and he made his claim quite clear to me via sensor panels when I arrived that you were in a committed relationship.”

“We share wha’ now?”

The red and blue mech’s doorwings flared up in what Jazz grudgingly recognized as “surprise/dismay”. He’d had to start learning doorwing-speak because of Prowl.

“He has not told you?”

“Obviously.” Jazz said impatiently.

Smokescreen put down the pad he’d been holding and laced his digits together in front of him on the desk. 

“Are you familiar with the concept?”

“‘Course. Resonance is tied t’ compatibility.”

“That is the simplest explanation, yes. You see, in Praxus, Resonance is considered nearly sacred. A sparkbond with somebot you share Resonance with is considered to be the closest thing to the Well you can achieve while still functioning. We Praxians are uniquly gifted in that our sensor nets can detect spark signatures and measure Resonance. You and Prowl share a near perfect Resonance to each other.”

Jazz sat in shocked silence for a moment and then dropped his helm into his servos. “Tha’s why the forced Merge didn’ hurt.” He muttered.

Smokescreen’s doorwings shot up. “What?!”

Maybe it was because Smokescreen was a new party, or maybe it was because Jazz was finally getting answers, or maybe he’d just reached the end of his tether. But Jazz found himself telling the mech everything. Starting with the mission in Praxus.  
By the end of his story the blue and red mech had his digits steepled in front of his dermas.

“I am sorry he put you in this position.”

“I’m sensin’ a ‘but’ in there.” Jazz hazarded.

Smokescreen sighed and acquiesced, “But, he’s not going to give you up. No matter how hard you fight. We are taught from sparking that Resonance is everything. If faced with the discovery of a bot that shared my Spark Resonance, I might go to extremes to get to know them as well. Not quite as extreme as Prowl,” he hastened to say a Jazz turned a deadpan look on him, “but I would try. Unfortunately, your reasons for not reporting him are valid.”

“So wha’ am I s’posed t’ do?” Jazz growled. “Jus’ roll over? E’ acts like Ah’m some sorta possession. Ah’m not a crystal lamp ‘e can jus’ keep tucked away somewhere!”

“No, of course not! That’s not what I meant. Look, you need to make the most of it. Make him care about what you care about by making it worth his while.”

“...Yar suggestin’ I _sell_ m’self to him?!”

Smokescreen shrugged his doorwings with a tiny grimace. “Call it a bonding price if that makes you feel better. It will allow you to take back some control and make your “relationship” more balanced.”

Jazz mulled it over for a few breems.

“I think we can call our session over.” Smokescreen said gently when it appeared that Jazz was done volunteering information. “If you need to talk, my door’s open.”

“… yeah, alright. Thanks.”

Jazz left and Smokescreen smirked sending a short message.

_We are even now, Lord Prowl._

 

Jazz spent a couple of joors in the training rooms, alternatively beating the slag out of practice drones and sitting in the corner contemplatively. The other Ops bots left him alone, far too in tune with their own preservation instincts to attempt to engage him right now. All the while his processor turned and spun. 

Could he do it? Trade himself for his cause? Wasn’t that what he already did every time he took a mission he might not come back from? Maybe if he treated this like one of his missions it wouldn’t feel so much like he was betraying himself.

He made his decision.

Then he sought out Prowl. He found the tactician in his office as usual. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. For a moment he had an uncomfortable flashback to the energon treat incident.

“Jazz. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Prowl said, engine rumbling.

“I ‘ave a proposition for ya.”

“I’m listening.”

_Make him care._

“The raid on the eighth quadrant factory tha’s coming up in a cycle. Ya make sure tha’ all my mechs come back from this raid alive an’ I’ll give ya a willing Lesser Merge.”

Doorwings shot up in interest though his optics sharpened. “This is a new tactic. What has changed?”

Jazz lounged against the wall with faux nonchalance in a way that he knew drew attention to his curves and angles. He let his speech slip like he knew Prowl liked. “‘Ad a chat. Foun’ ou’ a coupla tidbits. D’cided t’ change th’ rules o’ engagemen’.”

Prowl’s optics roved his frame unabashedly. Silence stretched between them.

“A willing Lesser Merge with hardline for the lives of your mechs.” The doorwinged mech finally said carefully.

Jazz had expected this and countered. “You get hardline if they come back with no injuries.” 

“Give me your word.” 

Jazz steeled himself and pushed off the wall. He modulated his steps to glide over to the Praxian. A slow bend brought his face level with Prowl’s. He was gratified to hear a little hitch in Prowl’s ventilations. Jazz tilted his helm and pressed a lingering kiss to the tactician's dermas, lightly sweeping his glossa over them before pulling back a few microns and whispering, “Ya ‘ave mah word.”

As he tried to straighten, Prowl’s servos suddenly latched onto his upper-arms like titanium bands keeping him in place. Jazz deleted three separate violent reactions that his Ops training offered his processor.

Prowl pulled him forward again and spoke against his lip plating, “I accept your terms.” 

 

“... I’m telling you, boss, it was like having an avatar of Primus talking to us over the comm. It was the cleanest raid I've ever been on.”

Jazz grinned easily. “Good work. Now go enjoy yar cycle off.”

The mech saluted. “Yes Sir! Hey, will you tell Prowl thanks for me? We couldn't have done it without him.”

It wasn’t difficult to keep up the cheerful facade. “Sure thing, mech. I’ll let him know when I see him.”

The smile slipped after the mech left. He sent Prowl a message for a private meeting in his quarters in a joor. That gave him enough time to leave his office, visit the washracks and tidy his quarters before the mech arrived.

Jazz was just setting out the Vosnian high-grade and a couple of cubes on his tiny personal desk when his door chime sounded. 

He let Prowl in. The Praxian’s optics swept the room quickly and then brightened in pleasure at the sight of the high-grade. Jazz had done his homework. Sharing a consumable courting gift with the courter meant a favorable progression towards bonding. 

Also, being slightly overcharged might make this part easier.

Prowl followed him the short distance to the desk and Jazz poured out two cubes. He handed Prowl one, then tapped the cubes together lightly in a mute toast.

“To our future joint endeavors?” Prowl offered.

Jazz huffed in dark amusement. “Sure. T’ our future joint endeavors.”

The visored mech sipped his drink and tried not to twitch under Prowl’s intense stare. Though he nearly choked when Prowl spoke again.

“I am very lucky that Primus saw fit to gift me such a beautiful mate.”

“Woul’ ya feel differently if Ah ‘ad been ugly?” Jazz asked snappishly.

“No. Your spark would still be perfect.”

Jazz set down his high-grade before he threw it. “Ah’m not jus’ a spark in a frame! Ah ‘ave feelin’s, emotions. Don’ you care abou’ tha’?”

“Yes. That is why I took the time to court you. I wished to learn you.”

“Why?!”

Prowl caught Jazz’s chin. “Because I need you with me.”

The shiver that swept through Jazz’s frame was not wholly unpleasant, but it was still just this side of the wrong mix of danger/pleasure. And in that moment, he realized the power that he held. 

Prowl was the turbo-fox, yes. But Jazz didn’t have to be the glitch-mouse, he could be the owner holding the leash, keeping the fox from hunting.

Jazz took the cube of high-grade out of Prowl’s unresisting hold and then led him to the berth.

“Sit with yar back t’ th’ wall.”

Prowl did as instructed, spreading his sensor panels to lie flat against the wall, though he gave an inquiring look. Jazz gracefully lifted himself up and over to straddle the mech. “If ya box meh in, mah Ops mods activate.” He explained.

He could almost see Prowl tucking the knowledge away for later.

Questing digits ran over the seams of Prowl’s plug and port housing. The Praxian’s engine stuttered and revved. The housing opened under his servos; he opened his in kind. Playing with Prowl’s data cable cause the mech’s fans to come on with a thunk. The Praxian settled his servos on Jazz’s hips, teasing seams, tweaking wires, but it was light enough that it didn’t set off any of Jazz’s mods.

The visored mech plugged in his own connector first, shuttering. Prowl’s mind opened to him, vast in its processing power. But it didn’t try to overwhelm him, just waited for him to make the next move. Jazz vented softly and snicked Prowl’s plug into place.

Prowl’s presence pressed forward slowly, poking gently at his firewalls. After a moment of hesitation, Jazz lowered them and let their minds nestle together to synchronize. He could feel Prowl, curious, but not invasive, strangely enough.

_:I just want to feel you.:_ The tactician’s voice rumbled in his helm. _:We will have time later to fully share our minds.:_

While the thought was mildly terrifying, Jazz let it go for now. He sent a packet of sensory data across the hardline. The reaction was immediate. Prowl bucked, servos tightening on Jazz’s plating. The Praxian sent back a packet full from his sensor rich doorwings. Jazz gasped and moaned at the overwhelming influx that lit his net.

Back and forth they traded data across the hardlines, charges climbing higher and higher. Prowl’s dermas found Jazz’s necklace cables, mouthing and nipping. The visored mech slid his servos onto the Praxian’s doorwings and sent gentle mag pulses through them.

_:Merge with me:_

Jazz wasn’t sure which of them had put the thought forward, but it caused them both to open their chestplates. He leaned forward. Their coronas mingled.

It was... euphoric. And devastating.

Thoughts and feelings swirled around Jazz through both processor and spark. He could feel Prowl’s intensity, his obsession with the mech who held the perfect match to his spark. He felt Prowl luxuriate in the strength of his own loyalty to the Autobots and his fierce sense of honor.

The next data packet Prowl sent overlaid his sight with a double vision of himself through Prowl’s optics. Fans whining to discharge excess heat, visor incandescent with charge, merge bathing him in a pale glow.

_:Stunning. Clever. Lethal. Mine. Mine. MINE.:_

The world collapsed into a bright point of light. Jazz screamed in ecstasy as he overloaded. Electricity dancing in snaking ribbons over his frame. Prowl snarled his name as the overload cascaded over their connection and through him.

Sluggishly, Jazz pulled away. Their chestplates closed. Prowl framed Jazz’s face with his servos, tracing the edge of his visor with his thumbs.

_:I will tear the Decepticons apart for you, my Jazz.:_

Through their hardline, Jazz could sense the absolute conviction and truth behind the words. They sounded like a bonding vow.

**Author's Note:**

> ....so kinda a hopeful ending? For this universe anyway.


End file.
